


The Drowning Man

by voodoo_smile



Category: Indie Music RPF, Music RPF, Pop Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF, The Cure (Band), music and bands
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Porn, Blow Jobs, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Drunk Driving, Drunk Sex, Excessive Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fanfiction, Gratuitous Smut, Heavy Angst, M/M, Male Slash, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rough Oral Sex, Smut, The Cure, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-07-24 01:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16171025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoo_smile/pseuds/voodoo_smile
Summary: Setting: Robert/Simon. 1983.Disclaimer: I do not own The Cure. Everything described in this story is fictional.**Warning: Uber angst here. Robert, the drama queen will never learn**Had a sequel to Blues In Drag in mind, however, due to some recent depressing, life changing events, I came up with this. As in my more angsty fics, Robert is a miserable bastard, and won't get much sympathy from those who can still bear to be around him. Until...Yet another WIP (sorry)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress. More will be posted as it develops.

Right…” Robert sighed wearily and finished dressing, then gathered up from the floor what little possessions he could still call his own: a rucksack, a handful of cassette tapes, some old photos he kept in a paper bag, and shut the door behind him.

Steve had finally asked him to leave, and  _that_  Robert did not expect – at least, not yet. He knew it was inevitable of course, just as it was with everything in life, but it was still a devastating blow.  After all this time… after all that Robert thought he had helped him with musically, and their  _relationship_ ; what it had eventually turned into, the  _physical_  aspect of it all, and what he had given of himself – Robert felt used.   _It was all just an utter farce_.  _Laughable_ , Robert thought, and he couldn’t help but let a cynical, little chuckle escape at his utter stupidity.  From the very beginning, the signs were portentous, and the outcome was exactly what he had predicted: he was now left with no one, and had nowhere else to go.

It was January and cold and Robert plodded along aimlessly, slinging his rucksack over one shoulder, drawing his trench coat up higher on his neck, and clutching his bag. What was the point to purpose in his stride now? He couldn’t think of one place he had to go, and not a soul had seemed to care that he still breathed life. The days of an impossibly packed, all-distracting schedule with The Banshees, The Glove, and The Cure were now over, and he was suddenly unimportant. He had been cast aside…

The thought of hailing a taxi back to his childhood home to hide out in his bedroom in Crawley had crossed his mind, but that notion was quickly squashed – he was determined to fight against that comfortable, fruitless, excuse for an existence.  Besides, he was convinced there would be no welcoming party waiting for him on that doorstep any time soon, not with the way he had been behaving lately.

And Mary… he thought of phoning her right then out of desperation, but wisely reconsidered.  She was no pushover.  He could offer nothing to her now and they both knew that.  She had often told him so, right before she’d finally had enough.

Robert realized his options were few, and dwindling quickly.  A hotel was out of the question; although the anonymity of that was tempting, he dreaded them.  His thoughts kept circling back to the friends he thought he still had for support; maybe Lol...  _No, he couldn’t possibly_ …  He was grasping at straws.  It was ironic that for the first time in his life, when he so desired the shoulder of others – a sense of security through familiarity – he was suddenly alone.  He had foolishly squandered everything.

Robert stopped in his tracks when one last option finally came to him: Bill.  The Fiction office. There, he would have the chance to clear his head and start fresh, he was sure of it. He turned around and squinted through the falling snow, eyeing the expanse of road ahead, and began the long walk to Charlotte Street amidst the Tuesday morning commuters.

***    ***    ***

“Well, there’s the couch…” Chris sighed, “You’re welcome to it.”

Chris’ head tilted in the direction of the long, tattered couch that Robert knew so well – and that had obviously seen better days.   _Much better days,_ Robert thought.  His eyes seemed to cloud over as he stood in the middle of the room, his coat dripping wet from the weather outside, clutching his rucksack and soggy paper bag tightly in his hands as he recalled those better days… and how often he and Simon would find themselves together on that very same couch to sleep off whatever booze or drugs they had ingested that night, too wasted to drive home.

One evening, in particular, had never left his memory.  The events that happened one late night replayed over and over in his mind often, even though they had been estranged for more than a year now, and that was the first night Simon touched him, fucked him on that couch… Robert’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

“Everything’s just as before.” Chris continued, breaking Robert from his spell, “Blankets are in the closet…”

“Yeah, thanks.” Robert mumbled and let his bags drop where he stood.

The sudden catapult back into the present made him feel the effects from the near hour walk in the snow; and he was now soaked and freezing.  He slid his cold, wet coat and boots off, slumped on the lumpy couch, and glanced listlessly around at his dank, dark surroundings in the basement.   _So, this is it._   _This is “home,”_  he thought,  _Lovely_.  It had somehow seemed so much more appealing years ago…

“There’s some tea if you’d like.” Chris spoke again and stood in the doorway, eyeing Robert sitting there with shoulders still hunched, his hair wet and clothes rumpled, staring off at nothing ahead, rubbing his chin thoughtlessly.

“Sure…” Robert paused and finally looked up at him, “Vodka?”

“Upstairs.  Everything’s upstairs.” Chris flicked the light switch on, lit a cigarette, then tossed his pack and lighter at Robert’s still form on the couch.

“Thanks,” Robert tried to grin, but it was forced, brittle.  His gaze dropped and he slid a cigarette out of the pack as Chris shut the door behind him.

***    ***    ***

He couldn’t sleep without passing out.  Left alone with his thoughts in the quiet darkness he tossed and turned, the rough fabric of the woolen blanket scratching his skin, and the sordid memories of his past life he hoped would never resurface, emerged night after night.  It was all a maddening nightmare, and the only way Robert knew how to silence the racket in his head was to drink himself into a coma alone in the unrelenting, cold, damp hell in which he now imprisoned himself.  And as a result, in the span of little over a week, the stocked cabinet upstairs was practically emptied of every bottle of liquor it once housed.

Most days, Robert wouldn't regain consciousness until well into in the afternoon.  Bleary-eyed, rumpled and sluggish, he would only bother with changing into the few articles of clean clothing he still had left in his rucksack on rare occasion.  There was no phone or radio in the room, and he had no contact with anyone apart from Chris, and even that was fleeting.  Once or twice every few days he would shuffle upstairs for some biscuits, milk, or tea, sometimes using the office phone to order a take away when the mood struck, only to quickly duck back down into his lair as if hiding from a killer as he clutched his beer and food.

Surprisingly, none of his instruments or equipment accompanied him. Even though Chris had offered to have those items brought straight to him, Robert couldn’t bear it.  And so, those guitars – once as precious as gold, sat unused, deposited in an off-site storage room indefinitely.

***    ***    ***

There was a knock on the door that startled Robert, causing him to cease all movement right where he stood, then reached down to scoop up his dirty shirt from the floor, slipping it on over his head.

“Yeah?” He murmured, and Chris opened the door.

“Lol here to see you… Upstairs.” He said, and before moving to shut it, “I’ve told him you’ll only be a moment.”

The door shut and Robert froze.  He didn’t know how to react to Chris’ obvious ploy to get him out of his dark cell – to coax him back into some sort of interaction with humankind – and Robert’s chest tightened at that thought.  He was almost certain Lol had only appeared due to Chris’ pleading, and not from any true concern of his own.  Come to think of it, Robert was even convinced that Chris’ concern was little more than financial; the label, of course.  He saw right through him.  He saw right through them both.   _Ha!_   _Another utter, fucking sham,_  Robert thought.  But even so, perhaps since they were waiting upstairs, he could finally tell them what he wanted to say for months.

“Fuck…” He uttered, and began the long plod out of the room and up the steps.

It hadn’t gone as Robert intended; his heart was racing, and his hands became clammy as he mechanically spit out the words he thought he would never divulge: The Cure was over, the music was finished and that was that.  He’d had enough.

There was very little said as they stood facing each other, and both Chris and Lol looked incredulous as Robert had announced just what he thought of them and just what his plan was, which was to do nothing.  To let it all dissolve away, and he would disappear into oblivion.   _Christ... nearly there now,_  he thought.  It would be as if The Cure never existed, and the first, real grin he'd shown in months slowly spread across his face – he quite liked that idea.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is now complete, and certainly didn't seem that enjoyable for our main character. Oh well :) I love torturing him.
> 
> *I have one word that describes Robert here: SLUT*

It was dark, hot, and the music above Robert’s head was pounding, but muffled.  He snorted another line from the table and briefly lifted his gaze to the ceiling as the cocaine tingled and began to work its way up to his brain.  He shut his eyes and leaned into the table, steadying himself against it, soon realizing just where he was; in a musty room under the club, another basement, in the bowels below, along with the disused tables and chairs simply tossed aside.   _Dismissed… such a fucking familiar picture_ , Robert thought, and a derisive cackle escaped at his fatalistic notions.  He was beginning to feel like an undesirable rodent, only active under the cloak of nightfall, reluctant to show his face in the light of day – his mediocre existence somehow easier to justify that way.

Robert plopped down on the section of sofa behind him, the dated, abandoned vinyl reeking of cigarettes and a general staleness, and a hand settled on his shoulder firmly, alerting him to another presence, one he had been completely unaware of since the plummet into his own bleak predicament.

“Hey,” It was a voice he’d never heard before, or at least, he didn’t think he did. In any case, it didn’t sound so terrible. It was almost soothing in a way.

“Can I have some of that, lovely?” The male voice asked.

 _Lovely_ …  And Robert considered acknowledging that remark by looking up, but wasn’t quite certain if that endearment was actually directed towards him.  He couldn't imagine why it would be.  At this point, his thoughts were swirling; head spinning from all the drinks, hit of acid, and finally, the cocaine he’d scored earlier, but from whom?   _Him?_    He had no clue, yet the need to know was killing him, and he attempted to speak, regardless of his muddled state.

“I…who–?” Robert stopped, and then a breathy chuckle of frustration emerged.  He attempted to stand, awkwardly pulling his body up, his hands fumbling for the table next to him for support.

“ _Shhh_ ,” The voice coaxed, and Robert teetered there until a warm hand found his cheek, “Just let me…”

The man’s face failed to materialize as Robert’s sleepy, lopsided gaze searched for it in the darkness, making him doubt if any of this was really happening at all.

And that same hand moved to cup his cock over his trousers…

“Hey,” Robert breathed, knowing he had to have been blushing by now and in attempt to adopt a firm tone, he failed disastrously; a cautious, yet accepting whisper emerging instead, “Please…” Desperately trying to maintain a modicum of control, he swallowed hard, “Don’t–"

But before he could turn his face away, his mouth was quickly caught by a pair of warm lips and a strange tongue slid inside, sucking, pulling…  After a moment, Robert realized he was permitting this, and he let himself settle in to the kiss, simultaneously pushing his body towards such an insisting, sweet caress.

How he had missed being pursued,  _desired_ , and he reluctantly let himself lean forward to fall into this person’s arms at last,  _whoever he was_ …  Robert giggled breathily at that, with a ridiculous line from an old American movie suddenly floating across his mind,  _“Whoever you are, I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers…”_

He moved to nuzzle the side of a warm face with his nose, the stubble scraping his skin, and while that strange hand continued to gently fondle Robert’s arousal, he laughed again at the absurdness of the rogue thought that had managed to distract him from the sordid situation that was unfolding.

“Hmm?” The man purred, mouth moving into Robert's hair – not kissing, just slightly open, his breath uneven and excited, “What is it my lovely?” He breathed in deeply and licked Robert's ear, nipping at the lobe, “… So sweet…”

Robert sighed and bit his lip.  He couldn’t take this.  He ached to press his own hand down on those slim fingers that were now inside his trousers squeezing his erection.  He could barely contain this feeling of companionship and intimacy – however brief – and the burn of lust, from deep within.  At that very moment, he could picture simply pushing this man down to the dirty floor in front of him to show him just what he needed.  He longed to see it through; to just let go and surrender to ecstasy and not think about what it would all  _mean_  afterwards – the vulgarity, the cheapness, the emptiness... but it was useless.  Everything from the past that he had managed to successfully expunge during his drunken, drug-addled binges began to uncontrollably roll through his mind with a vengeance; voices, faces... and the shamelessly debauched things he'd done without thinking or caring, his despicable actions borne out of nothing more than selfishness.  He hated himself.

He had to get out of there.  He had to escape this.

***   ***   ***

He awoke abruptly, his eyes taking longer than usual to adjust to the near darkness.  He shifted, still groggy, floundering from his stomach to an upright position on the musty couch and instantly regretted that hasty decision; the room spun.  Robert winced and his hands came up to the sides of his head and squeezed, fingers pressing down hard in an attempt to stop his head from reeling.

After taking a few slow, deep breaths to compose himself, he released his grip and fumbled for the lamp on the table. The light was nearly blinding, and he squinted, his glare pausing on his trousers and shirt balled up in front of him on the floor.  He shook his head in self-reproach after noticing that some of the buttons had popped off and were scattered across the familiar tile at his feet, and it was then that he tried to sort through his fuzzy thoughts, desperate to recall how he got back to the Fiction offices and desperate for any memory of what had occurred once he returned.

He was suddenly cold and looked down at himself, soon realizing he was naked.  As he raised his gaze in hopes that his survey of the room would jar his mind, his eyes opened wide in disbelief at the chaos that surrounded him.

The room was in a shambles; the chair next to the couch had been overturned and the closet door was open with its contents tossed about on the floor.  Sticky liquid that he could only guess was alcohol, was spilled on the couch and the small table next to it with a few broken, empty bottles strewn underneath, and full ashtrays were overturned with ash and cigarettes littering the floor.  His paper bag filled with his most prized photos was crumpled and nearly torn apart, the photographs scattered among the mess, and worst of all, his rucksack that included all of his clothes, cash and drugs, had disappeared.

The reality of what had occurred hit him all of a sudden, and it was difficult for Robert's lungs to take in a breath as a smothering dread quickly overtook him.  His pulse quickened and his chest felt heavy and a dull ache began in the front of his head.

“Shit.” Robert's head flopped back on the couch and he put his hands over his eyes.  A weak sob escaped at his utter stupidity and blind trust as fragments of his debauched evening began to whirl through his mind.

When would he ever learn?

***   ***   ***

He did manage to finally escape that basement in the club earlier, only to find himself headed back to a more familiar one, but he wasn’t alone.

He and his new friend stumbled out of the club as best as they could, considering their compromised condition, and even though it was late – or at least, Robert presumed it was – there seemed to be no signs of stopping their endless party.  The cocaine and alcohol were in plentiful supply, and in keeping true to form, Robert lapped it all up voraciously.  He was well out of his head even before they left the club.  And after foolishly having a change of heart, he didn’t need to beg this man to follow him back to his dungeon.  In fact, the stranger nearly beat Robert off in the back of the taxi at hearing the promise of more drugs, and of course,  _other things_  that Robert couldn’t quite say – didn’t need to say, his coy, knowing glance tempting and encouraging.

They had clamored clumsily down the stairs and into his room, where the booze and drugs flowed yet again, and during that time, comprehending what the conversation actually was between them was another matter entirely.  He only heard bits of disjointed words until his lips were finally met by the other's, hands roaming greedily under Robert's shirt – and oh, how those hands tore his shirt open with such eagerness; the buttons popping off… and Robert  _hissed_.

Everything happened so quickly, or perhaps it only seemed that way.  He drifted in and out of consciousness so often only random patches of events remained.  There was no order to them, no sequence – only realizing that at some point, he was stripped of his clothes and a mouth was kissing his neck and chest as he was being beaten off – that unfamiliar, yet soothing voice reminding Robert of just how dirty he really was… and how that stranger whispered just how badly he wanted to  _fuck_  Robert… and Robert swooned… felt a surge of lust… but the man had stopped his glorious hand job just before he came.  And much to Robert’s surprise, the sweet, insistent voice quickly changed to an aggressive, rough growl as he seized him by the hair and pulled painfully hard, slapping his cheek, ordering Robert to kneel naked in front of him to suck his cock.

As Robert’s mind peddled back to the scattered thoughts from that fateful evening, despite the nature of the situation, and the fact that he’d been paired with the same individual for hours, as hard as he tried, he couldn’t cultivate any image of the man on the couch who barked out orders and continuously pushed his head down onto his cock, making Robert gag and nearly vomit.  Accepting his size was an honest struggle – he simply couldn’t breathe, and when he tried to signal a floundering protest with a muffled moan of anguish and squirming, he was rewarded with a firm hand that forcefully shoved him down again, fingers squeezing the soft skin around Robert’s neck, cutting off his air supply for a brief moment until Robert thrashed. When all attempts at raising his head failed, the thought of biting this maniac’s cock right off in desperation had entered his mind, but it was no use, he could barely get his mouth around its girth, much less bite down; it was more than he bargained for.

By this time, Robert was in a panic and quickly realized that his own life was in jeopardy.  It was somewhat of a foreign concept to preserve his own safety – it was one consideration he hadn’t heeded at all in recent months, but he couldn’t let his existence end like this.  The entire ordeal was utterly pitiful…

In an odd desperation to take back control of his fate, with all the strength that he could muster in his impaired state, he pushed himself up and off.   Snarling with teeth bared, his fists collided with the body in front of him, his frantic yelps emerging hoarse as the two groped and blundered, fighting each other off, until finally, the impact of his opponent’s blow knocked Robert back, his body meeting the cold tile as he lay there breathless, stunned.  And his eyes betrayed him as they closed slowly, silencing his murderous thoughts…


	3. Chapter 3

Robert grabbed his shorts from the floor, dusted the cigarette butts and ash from them, and then slowly stood to put them on.  His bones and joints ached as he scratched his head – quickly discovering the soreness from the lump on the side of it that had magically appeared.  He eventually bent over to pick up the rest of his clothes to get dressed, although much to his disappointment, his shirt with the missing buttons was rendered ineffective.  He sighed and rummaged around on the floor once again amidst the disorder, and found some sort of jacket, one he’d never seen before and he winced, realizing its rightful owner was the deranged lunatic who nearly asphyxiated him, trashed his room and pilfered his belongings.

After a long while of just staring at the revolting blue object that sat in the corner rumpled and stained – almost as if it was placed there on purpose – he had no other option but to don it out of sheer necessity.  After all, it was the middle of winter and venturing outside would be foolish without some sort of barrier from the frigid temperature.  _Ha!_ Robert snorted aloud for even thinking that.  _Why should I give a damn?_   He thought.  Everything else he’d done lately had tempted fate, so why should his simple-minded concern about something as trivial as the weather even matter?  But to the contrary, he reluctantly slid it on, holding back a choked noise of lament as the musky scent of his violator wafted up under his nose.  He was horrified... and felt ridiculous; literally swimming in the large, ill-fitting garment that hung loosely from his body.

***    ***    ***

He sat on the couch and zipped up the jacket, trying to block out the chill that seemed to creep in through the windows from the outside.  He rolled up the long sleeves and spread the rest of the photos that he could locate undamaged from the floor out in front of him on the cushions.  A few were of his siblings, parents, and Mary, but they seemed alien to him, and he seemed like an entirely different person from the one in those old photographs.  His young, hopeful smile was now replaced by a dark, brooding expression with a permanent furrow forming his brow, making him look older than his mere twenty-four years.

He slid those aside and examined the others, holding them up to view, one by one.  A few were taken of Robert's favorite places while touring the globe and the rest were of friends, though one friend in particular, had the majority of images snapped of him more than any other, and each picture consisted of just that person – no one else shared his space within the frame.  It was clear that Robert, the owner of the camera, had reserved it for that one special person, and Robert pondered over this for the next few minutes just to be sure.  

Even after all this time apart, he was still convinced that the friendship, or  _relationship_ , he had with Simon was the closest he'd ever had in his life, even surpassing the closeness of his relationship with Mary, and for Robert, a genuine closeness wasn't something that happened effortlessly.

He was more the observer, quietly weighing things, but unwavering in his opinions, whereas Simon was more outspoken.  He tended to see both sides of the coin, and his zest for the simpler things in life was something Robert would often laugh and tease him about.  They were different in many ways, yet they managed to share the same passion for many things, especially when it came to music.  In any case, the two simply clicked from the very beginning.  They shared  _everything_ , including an eventual, unique, physical intimacy that he had never been able to replicate with anyone else.  He loved him.  He knew that from the moment they had kissed, maybe even before all of that muddied the waters.  That was the plain truth of it all; he simply _loved_ him... and missed him so much that his heart ached.  

"Simon..." He uttered aloud as he sat alone in the cold quietness.

It was the first time he’d said his name in years, yet all this time, had kept a handful of pictures of that very person’s image.  He couldn't bear to get rid of them, and from time to time, those photos would be a comfort to him.  He even wondered what Simon had been doing for those few moments he would find himself staring at them.   _At him_.  But other times, during his most lonely and desolate of moments, he nearly succeeded in destroying that comfort, as the images preserved in the photographs were simply too much of a reminder of everything that had failed – the one person whom  _Robert_  had failed... and on more than one occasion, had decided that the only logical thing to do was to dispose of them.  Thankfully, his rash plan never materialized; if it did, he knew he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

Exhausted and defeated, he scooped them all up and stuffed what he could into each jacket pocket and decided to lie down.  He needed to stop thinking about what he was going to do.  He just needed to be left alone – to leave his misery behind him for a few hours as he tried to sleep.  He hoped he would at least be able to dream of Simon, still so young and so beautiful, much like the very first time he kissed Robert… 

He needed to see him again in his dreams.  And for the first time in months, he was certain that he would.


	4. Chapter 4

“Well, holy– _fuck me…_ ” Chris’ astonishment was clearly evident in his exclamation that could be heard from the doorway, waking Robert up.

He stirred on the couch, opened his eyes, and then quickly squeezed them shut in sadness and frustration, realizing his dream of Simon had never occurred.  And worst of all, he was still here; still in hell…

There was shuffling and some of the mess being thrown into a corner as Chris approached, but Robert remained frozen into position, feigning sleep.  He couldn’t possibly deal with an inquisition now.

“Robert…” Chris said, and it wasn’t a question.  He hadn’t asked.  Robert’s name was voiced with obvious disappointment rather than concern.

Unfortunately, he had now been confronted by Chris and knew that there would be no getting out of this; he was trapped, and had no choice but to face the figure looming over him, no choice but to pull himself together and carry on… and Robert couldn’t bear to think of it.  He covered his eyes with his forearm, an action he instantly bemoaned; the scent of his perpetrator hitting him in the face once again, permeating from the ridiculously long sleeve of the jacket that covered his hand.  He emitted a small whimper of despair and then reluctantly opened his eyes.

“What the bloody hell happened?!” Chris asked, still in shock.  
  
And Robert had no idea where to begin.  He wasn't even certain if he should...

***    ***    ***

Everything was a terrible mistake; an unfortunate, random event, over which he had no control.  It was a deliberately vague explanation, and an utter lie.  A lie that, by the time he was done trying to convince Chris of, Robert practically believed it himself.  
  
But it didn't matter if Chris chose to believe it or not; with his clothes gone and no money, except for the twenty pounds Chris had given him – practically  _forced_  on him, much to Robert’s chagrin – it would have to be enough to get him to where he needed to go, which was anyplace but here.  And as he sat at Chris’ desk with the receiver in his hand, he knew exactly what had to be done.  
  
The phone rang for an eternity until Robert heard the click of the line engaging.  
  
"Gary, mate...Where are you?" The words simply tumbled out of his mouth.  He was desperate, wasn’t even thinking, and at this stage, he couldn’t be bothered with a proper greeting.  Niceties would only get in the way of what he really wanted.  
  
***    ***    ***

He'd spent some of the twenty pounds hailing a taxi to meet him and there was enough left for a handful of lagers at the pub, but it was just as well.  Observing the Friday night revelers, many with partners by their sides, made Robert sink down in his stool – their end of week celebrating nearly making him want to throw his pint glass into their midst to squash their sickening cheerfulness.  This was the last place in the world he should be sitting, and he bitterly choked down his beer.  
  
"Yeah, I've got it, Robert."  Gary said quietly, and slid onto the stool next to him.

"Right, thanks." Robert looked down at the bar as Gary slipped the baggy into his waiting hand underneath.

"Careful with this..." Gary warned, his eyes fixed straight ahead at first, and then finally turned to look at him, "It's all I've got."

"Gary, I–"

"Seriously, Robert..." He shook his head, lips pursed in a thin line, "Don't ask me again."

And with that, Gary stood, drank the last of his beer and left.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the off chance that anyone is still actually reading this one - added a bit more as an end to a short Chapter 4, and have added Chapter 5 here. Chapter 6 is in the works and may take a few months. RL is a pain in the ass sometimes...

His feet were aching, and he was out of breath, not even remembering where he managed to escape from before he found himself in front of this particular door.  He pounded on it, hoping for it to swing open, but after a few moments of standing alone in silence – of waiting for any reaction – his hand dropped to his side.  He turned his back to the red wooden door and flopped against it limply and raised his head, his eyes squinting at the sliver of sun now peeking its way over the horizon.

Lol didn’t seem to be home, but now Robert wasn’t so sure.  Perhaps, he was purposely avoiding him, and his jaw tightened at that unsettling thought.  In his paranoid, twitchy state, his mood suddenly darkened, and he was now convinced that Lol was  _hiding_  from him, ducking under windows in his flat to move from room to room without detection from the desperate, hobbling figure on his doorstep.   _Yes_ , that had to be precisely why there was no answer.

“Fuck.” It was a groan of disgust.

***    ***    ***

“Mum, yeah…” His warm breath appeared in the coldness as he sighed into the receiver, the morning light growing brighter as he stood there in the frigid cold, weary and hopeless, “Look, no… it’s–I’m fine.”

Of course, it couldn’t have been further from the truth, and in order to spare her the drama, he explained to his mother that he had just been on a lengthy tour with The Banshees and was back on English soil.  At this point, calling her was his last resort.  He was forced to swallow his pride and try and convince her that everything was okay.   _What other choice was there?_ He thought dismally.  It was either this or sleeping on a park bench in the middle of winter somewhere in London, and that simply wouldn’t do.  He was determined to get his old bed back, his old life back.

After a mumbled goodbye, Robert simply stood there alone and shivering, waiting shamefully outside of the phone box at the curb for his salvation.  He felt utterly pathetic, and never thought in his wildest dreams that he would be reduced to this.  After clearly noticing a very familiar car pulling up, then stopping in front of the café where he had been standing, his humiliation couldn’t have gotten any worse; his younger sister, Janet, of all people, was in the driver’s seat of _his car,_ and that he did not expect.  It stung him.  It smacked of failure, and his mood plummeted even further.

As he reluctantly opened the passenger door, Janet asked if he was okay, to which he only nodded.

“Where are your bags?” She asked, still eyeing her brother, “Do you need a hand throwing them in the boot?”

So _helpful_ , Robert thought, suspiciously; her words and her tone weren’t what he was used to, it wasn’t what he was expecting…so polite and measured, and so  _careful_.  Robert couldn’t stand it, certain that his mother had alerted her to his sorry state before she came to fetch him, realizing he wasn’t as clever as he thought at hiding his desperation.

He simply shook his head, his reply emerging empty and wooden, “I have nothing…” And it was the truth in so many ways.  All he had left were the photographs still stuffed in his pockets, reminders of just how lucky he had been before.

***    ***    ***

His room was just as he left it: claustrophobic and cluttered, but then slowly became welcoming.  The bed was smaller than he was used to lately, but it was familiar and inviting, and exactly what Robert needed.  He was still exhausted after a long sleep, but in a strange way, he was finally relaxed.  It was something he hadn’t felt for quite some time.  Despite waking up in another's bed for months, it just wasn’t quite the same as what he was feeling now.  And as he lay there alone in the dark, finally feeling settled, memories of his life from what seemed like decades ago, moved freely through his mind: pictures, places, faces… so many of those moments taking place right in this very room.  Some of them life-altering, a good portion of it having to do with the one person whom he still missed, the one person who still had a place in his heart…

He rolled over on his side and flicked the switch on the small lamp next to him on the bedside table.  The light splashed across the pictures he’d deposited there earlier, and he reached over, picked one up and held it to the light.  His grin grew wide as he reminisced while gazing at the nearly out of focus picture of Simon on the very same bed, drinking a beer.  It was taken ages before, not long after they’d first met and even after all this time, considering the drunken state he was in, Robert still remembered that night quite clearly, even remembered taking the picture.  It was the very first night they fell asleep in each other’s arms.  Actually, the reality was that he ended up being squashed between the wall and Simon, and although it was uncomfortable at first, he didn’t mind at all.  And after a few moments of quiet and stillness, he could feel Simon’s moist, warm breath blowing onto his chest as he slept – or rather, passed out, after the night they’d had.

Robert’s body flushed with warmth as he recalled pleasantly how his skin tingled and his breath hitched just a bit as Simon’s hand settled gently on his hip, moving slowly from the waistband of Robert's boxers, then under his t-shirt, fingers lightly stroking him, just before Robert himself finally drifted off…

He laughed quietly into the darkness and shook his head when he reflected upon the memory of them both waking in his small bed, smashed against each other in their shorts and t-shirts, mouths dry and heads pounding from imbibing much more than they should have the night before.  Robert’s back was stiff as well – discovering he’d been practically flattened into the wall behind him as Simon inched closer throughout the night, his arm nearly wrapped completely around him as they awoke together that afternoon.

By all accounts, the party the night before that Robert threw at his house while his parents were on holiday was a success of monumental proportions, leaving them both with monumental hangovers and the monumental task of him having to clean up the mess before his Mum and Dad arrived back home.  That would be well before he knew he would be feeling any better and the thought of it all had bothered him, yet he had no regrets.  It wouldn’t be the first time he had to deal with the aftermath of something like this, and this time, after Simon had agreed to assist, it hadn’t seemed nearly as daunting.  Just  _being_  with Simon made it all seem better.  He could accomplish anything with Simon by his side. 

Robert dropped the photo to the floor and turned on his back again, his hands over his eyes deep in thought.  How simple it all was when they were just teenagers; they could talk about everything and anything, they did anything and everything together.  How so very clear, uncomplicated and  _forgiving_  the world was when it came to his failed risks and bad judgment.  It was all so easy for Robert back then.  So very different compared to how muddied, ambiguous and unforgiving the world had now become…


	6. Chapter 6

He hadn’t been out of the house for weeks, and that was something he never practiced while at home when he was younger.  In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he made plans to actually remain at home for an entire evening.  Previously, that idea was unthinkable as he always managed to busy himself; had so many other things to do and so many people to see… Such a contrast to the present, but it wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter these days, since his number of friends had, sadly, dwindled down to zero.  Nevertheless, these past few weeks of simply staying in were… different, almost calming, a rare chance to simply sit and think quietly, to organize his thoughts.  He hadn’t done that in ages.

It was the sound of the phone ringing that startled him at the counter as he finished making a cup of tea.  After more than a few rings, he set down the kettle and walked over to the small table in the hallway to pick it up.

Robert answered quietly, “Hello?”

As his family had received their fair share of phone calls, being as social as they were, the thought had never even crossed his mind that this call just might be for him.

“Robert…” The voice was small on the other end, with what seemed like a wall of distorted music in the background.

“Yeah?” Robert was truly perplexed, unable to recognize it from the clamor and the clinking of glasses that overwhelmed.

“Hey, it’s Gary.”

Robert froze and kept silent.  He hadn’t spoken to anyone else besides his parents and siblings for weeks and it felt odd to be standing here talking to  _this person_  on the other end of the line; a person Robert could have done without at this point in his life.

“... You there?” Gary asked.

“Yeah…” It was a reluctant confirmation.  He was repelled, but simply couldn’t hang up and he didn’t know why. 

There was nothing Gary could offer him…  _Well, that wasn’t really true_ , Robert thought, and started to reconsider.  Perhaps, Gary could see his way to fronting him a little something for the time being?   Just one last time… and Robert grimaced.  He put his free hand to his temple and rubbed, trying to shake that ridiculous idea.   _Of course,_  there were certain “things” Gary could offer him – at a fair discount, from his experience – but those things had nothing to do with his current way of living.  He’d made progress and wasn’t about to ruin it by taking a step back.  He wouldn’t let that happen.  But standing here hanging on the line for no reason made him feel trapped.  Why couldn’t he just hang up?

“Yeah, hey… Listen, Simon’s here and wants to–”

 _“What?!”_ Robert felt as if the breath had been knocked out of him.

“Uh…” And Gary paused for a moment, “Simon and me… there’s this gig happening later, and he–”

“No,” Robert interrupted and shook his head.

“What was that?” Gary asked, his voice fading in and out from the din.

“ _No_ …” Robert repeated, louder, “ _Can’t talk_.” It was the truth; those last few words barely squeaked out of his tightening throat and he slammed down the receiver, eyes widening as he stared at the phone in shock.

He didn’t have a clue as to why Gary would even be calling, they were never on the best of terms, or at least that was what Robert had always thought – even preferred.  Robert only associated with him to obtain certain recreational substances. 

From the very beginning, Gary was the wedge that came between Simon and himself, eventually having a hand in destroying what was left of their relationship, and for that, Robert considered him less than human; nothing more than the pathetic enabler, and mere roadie that he was.  And  _Simon,_ the name sounded foreign to him now... he cringed at the thought of the two of them together.  It would be an abomination as far as Robert was concerned, and he shook his head at the ludicrous notion that had suddenly cemented in the dark corners of his mind.   _That simply couldn’t be possible_ , he thought.  But now, he had to be sure of it…

***    ***    ***

He arrived at the club and lingered near the entrance, eyes darting to each and every doorway, prepared to make a hasty exit, not really knowing why he even needed to consider an escape.  His very own hesitancy the moment he stepped through the door seemed so absurd, but he simply couldn’t stop his uncertainty and nervousness. His back was sweaty and sticking to the dampened plaster behind him as he pressed into the wall, trying to settle in, but felt anxious and uncomfortable standing in the crowded and humid smoke-filled room.  It had been ages since he actually stood facing a stage as part of an audience and it felt so very strange… Not knowing what to do with himself, he mindlessly gulped at his lager, eyes looking down into his pint glass.

The lights came on over the small stage and as the band emerged from the shadows, Robert recognized his once most treasured paramour immediately.  His breath caught in his lungs, nearly making him choke as he continued to stare at the vision in black as he moved so smoothly across the floor and took his place.  He was even more beautiful than Robert had remembered; his hair now darker and longer, and as Simon flipped it back with a quick toss of his head, Robert’s eyes became fixated on the face he hadn’t seen in years.  It was the same beautiful face he would watch while they made love… his fingers lightly running over those full, pouty lips as Simon slept beside him on quiet mornings, sheets a tangled mess around them on the bed.

And that perfect, lithe body… Robert could always feel the warmth and passion blazing from it as they lay together entwined as one, or as Simon drove into him from behind, displaying no mercy.  After many of their marathon sessions, with Robert’s senses obliterated into blissful exhaustion, he quickly discovered his own body would be left pleasantly battered and sore, some parts more than others… and he nearly grinned in the dark where he stood as he recalled more than once, awakening and immediately wincing as he tried to shift, barely able to move.  It had never been as painfully sweet with anyone else but Simon…

The bumping into his arm by an unsteady, inebriated patron shouldering past knocked Robert out of his reverie, and as his gaze snapped up, his eyes regrettably met a most unsavory figure. 

Even with Gary’s head down as he approached the microphone, Robert recognized his nemesis straight away – could damn near  _smell_ him – and as Gary began to speak, Robert turned and pushed his way through the crowd to the bar.  He needed something stronger than beer, and his jaw clenched at the sound of  _that voice_ amplified through the PA.  But when the music started, Robert stiffened for a moment before slugging back his double shot of vodka; recognizing the bass instantly – didn’t even need to look again to the stage at his long-lost lover to confirm who was playing what he heard.  He knew that sound, though the rest of it was, to say the least, worse than dreadful.

After knocking back a few more doubles, at last, the false bravado he needed – the courage to actually turn around and bravely face the calamity occupying the stage – was in finally in place… and right at that moment, as Gary leaned in close to Simon’s ear, hand pushing his hair away as he spoke into it, was when Robert’s jealousy would ensue, and was now so perfectly validated.

His stomach lurched and he placed the glass down on the bar clumsily, he felt queasy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of them.  That touch: so  _proprietary..._ He was now seething and knew he couldn’t possibly sit there a moment longer, but it was too late; Simon’s head turned, scanning the crowd mindlessly, and it was then that Robert saw Simon’s expression change to one of shock as his gaze locked onto Robert’s.  They both froze and Simon faltered slightly, his hand stopping over his bass for just a moment, but it was a moment too long.  His glimmer quickly faded, and the heaviness, the _weight_ of every unfortunate thing that had transpired between them, seemed to come rushing back into his face.  Those dark eyes looking back at Robert like that penetrated right through to his very soul… he wanted to vomit.

He gulped his vodka, trying to convince himself that Simon’s glower was merely the unflattering result of a poorly executed lightshow.  He finally turned and ordered a final drink, knowing the entire evening was a bad idea – completely against what his better judgement had screamed to him on the journey there, but he couldn’t stop.  As soon as he’d heard the group was playing this club tonight, he had no choice.  Something had possessed him to travel more than an hour away – _Simon_ had possessed him, Robert was convinced.

It was all too overwhelming, his head spinning with regret and despair as he stood alone in the corner, now drunk and mute, clutching his glass.  He had no business being there.  It was Simon’s life, and from the looks of what Robert was seeing, he had moved on. He took another slug of his drink, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment in disbelief, before he turned to leave… and his heart felt as if it had been ripped from his chest.

He pushed the door open with a huff, and as Robert walked toward the curb to hail a taxi, a voice spoke from behind.

“Hey, aren’t you…?” The man’s voice hesitated, “Aren’t you that bloke from out The Cure?” He asked.

When Robert swung around, his gaze was met by a tall, looming figure donned in a trench coat and combat boots, and as his vision adjusted to the harsh glare of the street lamp overhead, Robert realized there was one detail he initially overlooked: the man’s head was shaved.

“What?  I–” Robert squeaked, the words seemed caught in his throat.

“Yeah, that’s right… innit’ Charlie?” The skinhead asked, calling out to someone else in the darkness.  And as Robert soon discovered, another skinhead with what seemed like a large silver ring through his nose, magically appeared alongside his mate, and ground his cigarette underneath his heel.

“Yeah, that’s him, that’s the bloke.” Charlie, with the nose ring confirmed.

Robert’s chest tightened, and his pulse quickened at the sight of the one skinhead still glaring... and soon felt a presence behind him, but he didn’t dare turn his head, he knew Charlie was now at his back.  He was trapped.

“Fucking poofter he is…” The one behind him muttered. 

Robert knew that derogatory term was directed towards him.  It wasn’t the first time he’d heard those words, and standing there, feeling so threatened and defenseless, so vulnerable... it occurred to him it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“No, I–” Robert tried to speak, tried to defend himself, but the words simply wouldn’t come. 

 _They were right anyway,_ Robert said to himself.  It wouldn’t change anything if he was beaten to a pulp because it was true; he _was_ a poofter after all.  His thoughts continued to swirl and drifted back to Simon, Steve, and all the others… and he wanted to laugh out loud at just how pointless this entire situation was…. how utterly pointless his life had become. 

Robert was just drunk enough to have little concern about the predictable outcome, and amazingly, a giggle began to emerge quietly from his throat, quickly growing to a loud cackle as he stood surrounded with no chance of escape.  He shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all, nearly becoming overwhelmed and breathless by his own bizarre laughter, as the two skinheads simply seemed to stare in amusement. 

But the sudden thud to the side of his head abruptly silenced him and sent him reeling backwards, and his arms flailed in an effort to gain his balance once again.

“Fuck!” Robert yelped, and turned to run, stumbling… but it was too late, hands were already on him pulling him back, and he gasped as a fist hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.


	7. Chapter 7

He arrived back at his parents’ house exhausted, bruised and sore, leaning against the front door as it shut behind him with his chest aching. He was astonished at himself for being capable enough to crawl away to hail a taxi after the beating he’d endured, though not a single onlooker had intervened – it was as if he was invisible. Despite being flung to the curb like trash, he was convinced he deserved worse; disappointed those skinheads hadn’t beat him unconscious so he could give his mind some peace.  He wanted to block out everything that happened earlier that night, the worst of it being the last unfortunate vision of Simon with that tragically dark expression… and the tears began to roll down Robert’s cheeks. By now, he was in desperate need of more to drink to silence his wretched despondency.

He doddered upstairs to his room, flicked on the light, locked the door, climbed over the clutter and gingerly kneeled in front of the nightstand. He yanked open the top drawer and reached far into the back, pulling out a baggy with some joints in it.  He tossed them on the bed, reached under it, and dug out a small bottle of vodka.  Robert unscrewed the cap, brought it up to his lips and took a long drink, his throat sore and burning, and he sighed with relief after he lowered the bottle from his mouth.  Then, he carefully climbed on his bed, scooted back up against the wall and lit a joint, inhaling deep and exhaling long.  He took another long drink, toked again from the joint and closed his eyes.  His head was humming from the pot and alcohol, but much to his disenchantment, sitting alone in the silence with no other distraction, his thoughts began to darken once again as the sound of his own heartbeat grew louder in his ears.

He felt betrayed, heartbroken at the memory of seeing Simon like that in the club… with _him_ ; Gary.  It was never supposed to be this way.

His thoughts drifted back to the start of the Pornography sessions, when the cracks in their friendship first began.  Robert was certain it started with Gary and the lies he’d been filling Simon’s ear with, and sadly, towards the end of recording that album, the poison between them swelled and then finally surfaced, infecting everyone in the band and beyond.  It was madness.  Not one person had been spared the venomous words, the cruelty, and eventually, the physical violence.

Towards the end, even their lovemaking – if he could call it that – had turned violent.  It was like torture to him.  No one but himself and Simon knew the real reasons it all had to stop.  At least Robert didn’t think anyone else could guess what had been going on between them, but then he realized they weren’t as discreet as they thought. 

Robert’s hands came up to cover his eyes, and a small sob of remorse slipped out as he pictured Simon that last fateful night on the floor of the club beneath him as he kept pummeling him in the face, his own fists aching and burning afterwards.  It wasn’t what Robert wanted.  He never meant to hurt the person he loved so dearly, but the jealousy and twisted mind games had all become too much, and Robert broke.  They both did…

Robert shivered, screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed the ashtray on the floor, recalling how wonderful it was in the beginning.  And he moved to lift the covers to climb underneath, his thoughts racing with the memory of the first night Simon fucked him on tour.

Their first visit to America felt like centuries ago… Robert and Lol shared a room and Simon and Matthieu teamed up next door.  When rooms were adjoined by the partition door, without giving it a second thought, the typical practice was to simply leave it open, allowing easy access to their never-ending, all-night binges of drugs, alcohol, and on a few occasions, even the odd groupie or two.  It had never been an issue in the past, but on this tour it was different, things had definitely changed.  Robert and Simon’s friendship had mutated, turned into something secretly sexual… yet those moments were rare, and when they did manage to steal away, it was desperate, sometimes even frenzied; Robert’s head being pushed down by Simon’s firm hand to suck his cock in the back of the van once everyone else had gone, or Simon lavishing kisses on Robert’s neck and shoulder, whispering into his ear just how much he needed him, only to pull his trousers and shorts down to fuck him in his bed at home after a late night of drinking or after a gig, his family oblivious to what they were doing as they slept in the house around them. 

Ever since the first time they had become intimate so long ago on the sofa in the cold, dark basement of the Fiction offices, it was the start of something that couldn’t be stopped.  It was something Robert hoped would never stop; kisses so deep and passionate, and touches so pleasurable Robert’s entire body would quiver in anticipation of feeling Simon’s hands on him, the filthy, wanton words whispered in his ear… 

But it was one night, in particular, that left Robert so dazed he felt helpless and blissfully emptied.  They both knew it was a risk, but they couldn’t help themselves – perhaps, were turned on even more by that fact…

It was a rare night off during a grueling tour schedule, and after coming back from dinner, Lol and Matthieu headed out for the evening with Robert and Simon choosing to stay behind at the bar.  As they finished off the last of their beers, Robert knew just what was about to happen.  What he _wanted_ to happen…  Just the way Simon had been watching him, his little touches, the light squeeze to his shoulder as Robert laughed at his outlandish joke… He knew it was inevitable.  And the moment they found themselves alone in their shared room, Simon had shoved Robert up against the wall in the tiny bathroom and kissed him so deeply, he couldn’t possibly push him away.

It was euphoric and just what they both longed for all evening, but it was a moment that Robert thought would end too quickly in disappointment when the door handle to their room unexpectedly clicked.  He could hear Lol muttering something to himself as he quickly stepped inside, but it didn’t stop them, they were far too lost in their passion.  And Simon pressed his body harder into Robert’s, smashing his back up against the wall with his hand inside his trousers, stroking him while Lol rummaged around for something in his open suitcase.  Much to Robert’s surprise and relief, when the door shut again, he immediately came in Simon’s hand, burying his face into his neck as he gasped, barely able to breathe. 

But they weren’t done – at least Simon wasn’t – and he pulled Robert away from the wall, walking them both towards the bed, adorning him with kisses along his jaw and his neck, and then practically falling on top of him as he tore Robert’s trousers down and off, and then his own.  It was heaven... and Robert grabbed Simon’s face, turning it, kissing him open-mouthed, his tongue plunging in deep right before Simon grinded his groin into Robert’s, and he gasped, his head falling back on the mattress.

“Robert… Robert please…” Simon’s voice was low and unsteady, and Robert’s eyes opened at that sound, immediately gazing up at those dark eyes as they stared back down at him, until finally dipping his head to lavish Robert’s neck with wet, hungry kisses, his body pressing into Robert’s even harder.

He was defenseless against this feeling, defenseless against Simon’s pleas, defenseless against that body against his, those hands that pulled up his shirt so that he could lick his nipple… and the fact that they hadn’t even locked the door after their first intrusion didn’t even seem to matter. Robert wanted this, wanted him completely, and he knew Simon had wanted this too, perhaps even more.

And before his mouth could even form that golden word _“yes”,_ Simon entered him and Robert clenched his teeth at that familiar, but glorious invasion.  It was desperate and dangerous – anyone could have walked in at that moment… and it drove Robert mad.  The entire blissful episode was carried out in haste, but under the circumstances, they had to be quick, and to Robert’s recollection, it wouldn’t have been the first time they’d lost control much too soon.

Afterwards, Simon rolled off of him and turned on his side, smiling tenderly at Robert.  His eyes were sparkling and blinking sleepily as Robert’s hand came up to cup his warm, flushed cheek right before he kissed him.  It was a kiss goodbye… for now.  He knew Simon wouldn’t stay, and he never expected him to, he simply couldn’t.  Robert pulled up the covers and settled back down in the bed, still breathing hard and still delirious – his head buzzing and not quite yet back from where it had been moments before – and he sighed contentedly, silently watching as Simon got dressed, grinning back at him as he turned to leave…

Robert emitted a small, sorrowful laugh at that memory from so long ago – one of the few he could still remember that hadn’t ended in misconstrued words and emotions, or deceit … He snuggled down further in his bed, pulled the blankets up over his head and grabbed the pillow, his face nuzzling it, then finally burying into it even deeper, wishing he could feel that familiar warmth, to inhale his intoxicating scent once again, but that was impossible.  Sadly, deep down, Robert knew it just wasn't meant to be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a beginning to this chapter. I'd say it's a booty call gone wrong. They're behaving like two slutty alley cats here...

“What’s the matter?” Steve asked, “I thought you… I thought you wanted this.”

He couldn’t quite believe that he was with him again… like _this_ ; up against the wall of a very familiar foyer, turning away from Steve’s blatant attempt to kiss him. He felt a hand firmly set on his shoulder, and Robert took a deep breath, his anxiety building.

“Don’t you?” Steve's voice emerged again, now a shaking whisper as his face nuzzled into Robert’s hair, his hand slowly moving from his shoulder sweeping up to his neck, his jaw… and Robert simply couldn’t answer – was too afraid to hear what might come out of his mouth if he did.

“Missed you…” Steve spoke again, his voice now breathy and thick with lust blowing into Robert’s ear, “… So, so much…”

It was then that his anxiety had all but left him for another feeling that was beginning to swell... and Robert couldn’t look – closed his eyes. But Steve gently turned his head, his thumb sliding along Robert's bottom lip for a moment before Robert opened his mouth slightly, only to feel Steve's lips land softly on his and a warm tongue slide inside...

The kiss lasted and its intensity evolved from something gentle at first, to a more aggressive, near smothering contact, leaving them both breathless as Robert broke away.

“No…” Robert whispered, his mind fully aware that this was something he shouldn’t be doing, however, his partial erection told him otherwise – it was very clear that his body thought differently, and so did Steve.

Steve’s warm hands cupped Robert’s face and held it there as his eyes wandered over it, finally stopping to simply stare at Robert, “You are absolutely beautiful.” Steve muttered and he kissed him again.

Robert was high on lust – his body buzzing from the sensation of it all… just the sheer want, the _demand_ in Steve’s kiss, his eager tongue twisting… and his hands moved from Robert’s neck, skimmed the front of his body and stopped at the front of his shirt, beginning to unbutton it, and Robert found himself involuntarily pushing his hips forward.

But... something was off, _wrong,_ and Robert suddenly felt awkward and he shifted, pushed him away.

“No…” Robert reiterated, his voice now firm, more certain, “Stop.” And he meant it this time.

“But,” Steve said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Why? What’s–?” Steve grabbed Robert’s hands firmly and he kissed his knuckles, slowly opening them to kiss his palms…

“No! Just… _stop!_ ” Robert’s protest was desperate, his voice wavering as he tried to compose himself, and he pulled his hands away from Steve’s grasp.

“ _What?_ ” Steve did take a step back and just stared at Robert, incredulous, “Then why did–? _You_ fucking wanted this!”

Robert winced at Steve’s statement because it was so very true; it was _Robert_ who’d dialed his number in haste, in utter desperation. Much to his surprise, it didn’t take much persuasion for Steve to meet him again; he knew just why Robert had called, why he wanted to see him – it was so very obvious. And when Steve had agreed, even paid for the taxi to bring Robert to his flat, he felt a wave of panic and utter disbelief at his own transparent recklessness, his _cheapness_ at whoring himself out to the very man who unceremoniously threw him out onto the street months before.

He had now sunken to a new low...

Robert turned away, attempting to move towards the front door to make a hasty exit, but Steve yanked him back by his hair, pulling hard as Robert hissed in pain.

“ _You little fucking cock tease!_ ” He growled, and Robert managed to finally break free, but not before Steve’s twisting grip tore out a small handful of his hair.

“What the fuck?!?!?!” Robert cried out, and gritted his teeth in agony.

By now, his simmering anger had surfaced, along with the intense throbbing of his scalp, and he swung around to face him, fists ready to knock the daylights out of him, but it was Steve who struck first, his open hand slapping him across the face with such force, Robert crashed into the door behind. Dazed and shaken, his hand immediately came up to rub what he was sure would leave a bruise.

“ _Fuck you!_ ” Steve shouted, and for the first time, Robert witnessed his building rage as his face transformed into something unfamiliar, almost beastly.  His shoulders and chest heaved as he lunged forward and grabbed at Robert’s sleeve, attempting to pull him back into the foyer, and Robert fumbled for the door handle, trying to open it – knowing his fate would entail much worse abuse from Steve’s wrath if he didn’t get out of there fast.

Robert finally got the door open and stumbled down the stairs, tripping over himself only to land on the concrete for a brief moment, and he scrambled to pull himself up, finally making his escape out into the darkness of the night.

***.    ***.    ***

“Oh, my!” Janet exclaimed, “What happened to  _you?_ ” She asked her brother as she walked into the kitchen, stepping around him as he sat at the table, clearly laughing at his misfortune, “Your face!”

Robert wasn’t amused.  He exhaled tiredly, tossed his piece of toast back on the plate and rose from the table, his cup of tea in hand.

“Nothing…” He mumbled, flinching as he gingerly ran a free hand through his hair in hopes that he could cover the damage Steve had inflicted. 

“Ha-ha!  Another shit hairdo!” Janet’s laughter followed behind as Robert marched down the hall and into the powder room.  And just as expected, his sister was right behind him, standing in the doorway, pointing at him like he was some sort of freak show in a circus. 

“Fuck off.” Robert said plainly, and shut the door as she stood there.

Robert flicked on the light, put his tea down on the counter and when he looked in the worn mirror, he couldn’t believe it was his own reflection staring back at him.  He looked…  _awful_ … and felt even worse.  His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, his cheek was red and swollen, bruised from Steve’s blow, and much to his horror, when he turned his head to the side, an obvious bald spot could be seen.  He attempted to fix it once again – to cover what was missing – but when he felt a slickness in his hair he took his hands away and finally looked down, the moistness on them warm and crimson.

“Shit…” Robert breathed, and dropped his head, his gaze now staring into the sink, his bloody hands gripping the side of it as his arms held up his weak and withered form.  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a small start here...
> 
> If you're as old as I am, you know that everyone drank and drove back in the day. EVERYONE. Don't judge :) This was the early 80's for goodness sake. Nobody even wore seatbelts back then!

The heat of the afternoon sun made Robert remove his trench coat and he draped it across his legs as he waited, glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings while sitting on the step alone. He passed by the same location multiple times to and from the studio for months, and had thought about stopping, but never had the courage. He knew he would never be able to endure this without the assistance of some sort of artificial confidence, and later, after many drinks to loosen up, and after snorting a few lines to work up his nerve, he couldn’t pass up pulling over in front of the line of terraced homes. He just had to find out if it was really true, had to see it with his own eyes, though he’d questioned whether or not he was at the correct address, and for a moment, even laughed out loud at himself - the sheer marvel of how he was able to maneuver the car in a straight line, considering his impaired, foggy state was still a mystery to him...


End file.
